


Towards and Wayward

by tanyart



Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Gen, Military Ranks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-05-05
Packaged: 2018-03-29 04:00:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3881464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/pseuds/tanyart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Granby, third son of a coal merchant, is newly captained after accidentally discovering and hatching a dragon's egg. He is sent to Loch Laggan, whereupon he becomes at odds with Lieutenant Will Laurence.  (AU: Laurence/Granby role-reversal.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Towards and Wayward

**Author's Note:**

> This initially started out as a drabble prompt years ago, but it totally got away with me.

The meeting with Admiral Croft had not gone very well.  Granby was sure that he would have been relieved on the spot had it not been for the intervention of Captain Portland, and he was also damned sure he would have laid more than a hand on Lieutenant Dayes’ ugly scowling face.  He had not wanted to give up Iskierka, and certainly not to a lying clod-pole like Dayes.

It was somewhat fortunate, then, that his simmering temper gave way to an almost overwhelming feeling of anxiousness once he and Iskierka arrived at the Loch Laggan covert.   He became acutely aware of the scattered specks of bottle-green coats in the courtyard while in the air, and when Iskierka landed, Granby made sure that his borrowed uniform was more or less straightened, given the circumstances.  Though the aviators he had met so far looked rumpled in appearance (compared from the shining buttons of the officers of the Navy), Granby suspected that his form was especially ragged and worn.  The green coat still felt alien to him, awkward and failing to cover most of his wrists, and his new boots were much too tight around his ankles; they had yet to be broken in, and Granby had not been wearing them, preferring his scuffed, thin leather boots instead.

“Where will you be going? Will you be all right?” Iskierka asked, eyeing him carefully when he maneuvered himself down her back. 

A hot jet of steam licked the side of his face and Granby smiled, wiping his damp cheek with the cuff of his sleeve (then belatedly realizing that he ought not to encourage the bad habit—surely, now that he was a  _captain,_ or will be). 

“I will return shortly.  I have to meet with the training master, I am told,” he replied, tugging down his luggage from her makeshift harness and promptly scandalizing the servants. (“No—it is no trouble at all, if you would kindly point me in the direction of—I have my own room?  Really?  Oh, no, I can take it myself—I, well, if you insist.  Thank you.”)

After the servants firmly shooed him away, he made his way through a dark corridor and into another courtyard, looking left and right at the new sights.  There were many dragons in the air, all flying formations to a tee.  It was nothing like Granby had ever seen, not in the coal mines of Newcastle-upon-Tyne, or London, or anywhere else he had been which, sadly, was not a very long list to begin with.  There were colors stark and bright on the wings of the various dragons, and even the aviators themselves, always seen against the cool gray of the covert grounds and the blue of the sky.

So, of course, he stood there gaping like a witless idiot until a shadow loomed over his head and Granby started badly enough to jump.

“Captain John Granby?” inquired the shadow, and Granby had to force himself to not back away.  He was familiar with Iskierka, obviously, and Volly was such a tiny little thing in comparison, and Laetificat had been introduced by her own captain—but to be addressed by a dragon all on its own was slightly unnerving.

 “Um?” Granby stuttered, glancing around for the dragon’s captain, who did not look to be around.

“Welcome to Loch Laggan. You are right on time.  I am Celeritas, training master here,” the dragon explained, lowering his large head to look closely at Granby.  “Ah, I have heard that you have no military experience before, but I assure you, you are not such an unusual case.” ‘ _So you needn’t fret, dearie’,_  had been tactfully left off, or so Granby assumed; he must have looked ready to fall over.

“Sir,” Granby said, his mind finally catching up with the rest of him.  He gave an unsure bow that would have not passed muster in any sort of company on earth, but Celeritas only proceeded to inquire about Iskierka and her capabilities, and upon discovering about her ability to breath fire, delighted in hearing that she could shoot much more than twenty feet, since Granby had been reluctant about testing her true power without proper space and supervision.

“I should like to see her fly tomorrow.  For now, allow her to rest,” Celeritas said.  “Ask Lieutenant Will Laurence to show you about and tell you where to find the feeding grounds; you will find him in the officer’s club.  Come back with Iskierka an hour after light tomorrow.”

Granby nodded, made his leg, which was thankfully much more polished than his first one, and left Celeritas with all the haste he could show without tripping over the flagstones.

*

The officer’s club had not been hard to find, but finding the whereabouts of Lieutenant Laurence was a different matter all together.  Granby entered the room, curious to find all the furniture pushed to one side and a small group of aviators playing ball in the middle of it.  One had bright yellow hair and, laughing, he had kicked the ball where it bounced off the wall, narrowly missed a lamp, and headed towards Granby.

Without quite meaning to, Granby brought his knee up, bouncing it once, twice, and gently kicked it back towards the group.  The boy with the yellow hair caught it with a grin.

“Hello,” he said, eyes taking a quick glance at the bars on Granby’s coat, “Captain.  May we assist you with anything?”

“I must look incredibly lost.”

“Well, I don’t know about that, sir,” the boy said laughing, “But it isn’t usual that we see a new face.”

It was hard to feel uncomfortable within this particular group of aviators.  Granby relaxed easily and found that the boy’s name was Martin, and the fellows playing with him were Blythe, Ferris, Calloway, and Bailey.

“Now hold on, you’re the captain with the fire-breather,” Martin exclaimed when Granby introduced himself. “The one that nearly set Laurence aflame just a while ago.”

“Oh Lord. Lieutenant Laurence?” Granby said horrified, “Is he—I was supposed to find him—oh God.”

“Not to worry, Laurence is right as rain, if a little singed,” Ferris said, steadying Granby’s arm, lest he start panicking (though Granby would later admit that he hadn’t been  _that_ apparent), “I believe he was looking to show you around.  It was entirely an accident.”

It turned out the ‘accident’ was a rather amusing one, as Martin was quick to retell how Iskierka had suddenly sneezed upon Laurence’s direction and caused his coat to catch fire.  Laurence, thankfully, had not been harmed, but had immediately gone to retrieve a new coat after he politely complimented Iskierka’s aim and said a belated ‘God bless you’.

The burnt coat must have been something an inside joke to the other aviators; it had been brought up often, followed by chuckles and a few mentions about an immaculate neckcloth.  Granby listened, confused, but was not willing to venture an inquiry.

“Laurence should be back here shortly,” Martin added from behind his sleeve where he had unsuccessfully tried to muffle his laughter.  He mastered himself eventually and held up the ball. “In the meanwhile, would you a quick game while you wait?”

Granby smiled, pleased by the invitation, but excused himself to check on Iskierka.  The layout of the covert was still unknown to him and after a few wrong turns, he found her fast asleep in the courtyard, snuggled between two other dragons—Anglewings, if Granby had to take a guess.  He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw nothing on fire and turned back to the officer’s club, which he found more readily on his second return.

Laurence was not yet present, so Granby took to the game Martin and the officers were playing, enjoying himself thoroughly.  He had never been shy to begin with, but it was much to his surprise that he did not have to reserve himself as much as he thought with the aviators.  They were certainly not like the Navy or Army, not while he played ball as if he was back in Newcastle-upon-Tyne.

But perhaps he was getting ahead of himself.  None of the fellows he was playing was above the rank of lieutenant. The observation came late and rang ominously once the realization hit him. Granby, distracted, gave the incoming ball an aimless kick where it flew high enough to hit the ceiling and land perfectly upon the head of an officer who was just entering the room.

Of course, knowing Granby’s luck, the officer was none other than Lieutenant Will Laurence in his newly changed coat.

“Mr. Laurence, sir, right on time,” Ferris called out, grinning.

“Pardon me if I seem to think otherwise, Lieutenant,” was the wry reply, though Laurence did not so much as put a hand on his head to check for a bump.  Instead, his gaze fell on Granby and though his expression was more curious than accusing, Granby turned even redder.

He stepped forward with every intent of apologizing, but Laurence’s eyes abruptly left him to face Ferris.

“Perhaps if you gentlemen would continue the game out of doors?  And return the furniture back to their former positions, if you please,” Laurence said, every word implying a suggestion, though his quiet tone of authority made it sound like a command.

It surprised Granby to see the men comply so readily, for he did not see any reason for them to stop their game.

“I assure you, Captain Granby, that it was more of my fault than anything else,” Laurence replied, blinking at his fumbling apologies.  “It is I who must beg your pardon for being abysmally late, sir.” 

“To which I believe my dragon had played a significant role in,” Granby retorted, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards, remembering Martin’s account. “But we shan’t run circles all day with apologies, so I will accept yours if you would mine.”

The lieutenant paused, as if he was torn between saying two different things, but finally said, “Thank you, sir.”

And Granby wondered what Laurence had wanted to say to bite his tongue like that, and if had to do with anything distasteful on Granby’s part.

“I was told that Celeritas wanted me to give you a tour of the covert,” Laurence added, to break the silence that had settled over them. “Shall we, sir?”

It would not do to confront the lieutenant so early in their acquaintance, and with so little cause, so Granby nodded and Laurence did not delay in performing his task, however bland and mild he made a covert full of dragons and lively aviators to be.

*

Days had passed by the time Granby was able to form an opinion on Lieutenant Laurence and, to be honest, it wasn’t much of an opinion at all; the lieutenant was unfailingly polite and proper, if a little stern and intimidating in expression.  He also stuck out a bit with the aviators—even more so than Granby—with his neatly tied neckcloth and ever present coat.  Granby now understood to what Martin and his friends were referring to, back on his first day at the covert.

What Laurence thought of Granby himself was a mystery.  Somehow, Granby got the impression that Laurence did not think very highly of him at all. 

“I will admit, the training won’t be easy,” Laurence had said during the tour, “but it is not impossible, Captain.”

Whether it was meant to discourage or encourage, Granby did not know.  He also did not know if it was Laurence’s way of saying  _captain_  that did not sit well, or if Granby was just not used to hearing it. 

*

“Captain, you would want to hang on to the strap with one hand while gripping the harness with the other when you move about,” Laurence explained, watching Granby clamber over Iskierka.

Normally Granby wouldn’t have had a difficult time maneuvering around her, but his dragon was sprawled on the ground, her whole body heaving from performing an endless amount drills.  He held on to the strap and harness as Laurence had instructed, but Iskierka’s body suddenly lurched downwards as she exhaled.  With an annoyed grunt, Granby slipped and landed on his bottom five feet below.

“Dear, this is the third time this morning,” he said, groaning, “One would think that you were doing it on purpose.”

“I am not!” Iskierka protested, turning around to nose him back to his feet. “And even if I were, I would knock off Laurence instead. I do not like at all the way he orders you around like that.”

There was no possible way Laurence could not have heard, but the lieutenant had turned his attention to one of the harness crew, perhaps to save Granby some face.

“Iskierka, you mustn’t say such things.  Laurence is only being helpful,” Granby said in an undertone.  He let out a breath and rubbed at his peeling cheek.  “And, in any case, it is not that I do not mind—I’d rather he yell at me till his face turns blue than lose my footing and paint an ugly picture on the ground.”

*

With no prior military experience, Granby was in over his head right from the start.  He was well aware of the fact, and tried to not let it affect his training. Besides, Iskierka was just as new to it as him, so he had no room for complaint, no matter how many times he had collapsed in his bed from pure exhaustion, only to dream of complicated flag patterns and signals.

He wrote often to his mother and brothers when time permitted, putting aside a sum of money that would have taken him a month of hard labor to earn instead of the week of basic training—though Granby personally felt that the physical strain of it all was nearly the same, if not more.

Finally, for all his optimism he tried ration for the upcoming weeks, he felt it all drain away when he slipped from the harness while Iskierka made a looping pass, corkscrewing as the riflemen took shots at a stationary target on the ground. 

It was not the first time Granby fell, but as he slid down the base of her shoulder he did not feel the usual tug of his straps to stop him and suddenly there was a tight pain around his chest where the waist strap had pulled up.  And, in his mind, Granby could see it clearly now—how he had been late, throwing his harness on and jumping onboard Iskierka without checking to see if the straps had been properly fitted.

A stupid,  _stupid_  mistake, born of too little sleep and worry and inexcusable carelessness.  

Granby held on to the slipping strap around his chest, barely able to breathe.  The steam coming from Iskierka made sweat drip into his eyes, stinging his cheeks where they had been badly burnt from the sun. 

“Ah, Christ,” he gasped, watching his boots dangle, and attempted to pull himself up.  It was no good; his arms were too sore and his legs were unable to find purchase. 

“Granby!”

He had only been vaguely aware of someone shouting  _Captain_  from above, and it was only after his name was called that he realized that the voice was addressing him.

Craning his head up, he saw Lieutenant Laurence crawling towards him and loosening his straps along the way.  Granby grimly held on to his waist strap until Laurence was able to lock one of his free carabiners to Granby’s and haul him up on Iskierka’s back with the help of some of the crew.

“Are you all right, sir?” Laurence asked shortly while Granby was still catching his breath and calling reassurances to Iskierka.

He eventually nodded and did not fail to notice the eerie calm that had taken over Laurence, and it was not at all like the thoughtful and reserve demeanor Granby had come to associate him with.  The quiet was much more brutal, furious even, from the way Laurence took a hold of Granby’s straps and tightened them with firm tugs and jerks.

“Thank you, but I can adjust them well-enough myself, Laurence,” Granby said, cursing the mortification that made his tone heated and ill-mannered; not even the ensigns were subjected to having their own harnesses fitted for them.  Orders, he would gladly take, but not if he was to be treated like a child.

Laurence paused, a grim line drawn across his mouth, but secured the last buckle of Granby’s harness with a hard yank that might have been due to the shift of wind, making Iskierka bob upwards, rather from his own accord.

“Better too tight than too loose, Captain,” Laurence said, and dropped his hands.

He had never known Laurence to be petty, but that very moment Granby found it to be incredibly so, and for no reason other than—Granby pushed the thought away before he could say anything rash in front of the crew.  He did not speak, aside from calling orders or questions, until the exercise was over and the crew was set to work on their own individual tasks back on the ground.

“Who has angered you?  I will set them aflame,” Iskierka asked, peering at his face when Granby half-walked, half-wobbled over, careful to keep his harness draped neatly over his shoulder.

“Nothing I cannot handle,” he said quietly, “No need to fret.”

Weeks ago it would have puzzled him how to address Laurence, the man being clearly older and more experienced despite the lower rank, but he was beginning to see that the aviators did not take themselves so seriously when it came to these things—which wasn’t to say that they demanded no less respect from each other; they did, and it was how Granby was able to motion Laurence aside, a little further down from the clearing.

“I would be much obliged, lieutenant, if you would stop calling me  _captain_ ,” he said, not loud enough to carry, but enough for Laurence to hear the grate in his voice.

Laurence straightened, looking bemused and—good God, Granby realized, he must have not have been fully aware what he had been doing. “Sir?”

That had done it.  The frustration had grown over the long, hard days of his training, and despite Celeritas' assurances, Granby felt as if he had not adjusted to aviator life quick enough.  Everything from military etiquette to swordplay, he was sorely deficient in all areas.  Laurence, by comparison, seemed to be the shining example even other aviators did not set their standards to.  Granby felt his face flush up in a sudden anger, as if Iskierka herself had set fire to his temper. 

“Stop addressing me as captain,” he repeated, “Or, at the very least, say it without sounding as if the word sticks to your throat.  If it’s any consolation to your sense of decorum, my rank was never confirmed, nor official.  Believe me, just plain ‘Granby’ or ‘sir’ will do, if you are so offended.”

At his outburst, Laurence only went silent, expression darkening into something that might have resembled real anger, had Granby the presence of mind to notice.

“Official or not, you were befitting of the rank, sir.  I apologize if I had assumed incorrectly,” Laurence replied, voice tampered in a way Granby would have never been able to manage.

His reaction, Granby supposed, was typical.  Laurence was every inch a gentleman and a gentleman's son. Unlikely as it was, it appeared all observable qualities of Laurence were designed to make Granbyfeel even more uncouth and shabby.  He bitterly shut his mouth.  Of course Laurence would not show anything remotely insubordinate, or perhaps he did and Granby did not notice.  In any case, having his anger displaced and not sufficiently met stopped him to an unsatisfying halt.  He stood, awkward, not knowing how to dismiss Laurence when he had clearly made forfeit of his rank, and eventually chose to walk pass the lieutenant.

“Celeritas,” Granby said, surprised to see the dragon speaking with Iskierka once he came back to the clearing; Laurence was following behind him and stopped short at the sight of Captain James as well.

“Oh, Granby!” Iskierka exclaimed, turning to him.  Clouds of steam rose from her body as her harness crew scrambled about.  “Where have you been?  There has been a battle! Celeritas has told me we are to fight!”

“No, you are to be an escort,” Celeritas corrected without his usual patience. “The dragons of the Edinburg covert have already driven off the French attack at the North Sea. Victoriatus was wounded, and he is very weak and having difficulty staying in the air; you and Maximus will help support him.  Volatilus and Captain James will lead you; go at once.”

Celeritas’ orders were clear enough, and Granby exchanged a brief glance with Laurence despite everything. He would not make himself a complainer for so trivial a manner when there was an injured dragon.

“Lieutenant,” Granby said, frowning, though it had less to do with Laurence and more for the upcoming travel.  “After everything is secured and onboard, I would be obliged if you went over the light rig with me.”

Laurence nodded, bland and polite as ever.

“Very good, sir,” he said, not missing a beat, and did as he was ordered.  


End file.
